Three white male photographers on three motorbikes driving through the countryside is always good for a few laughs.  We coined ourselves the ’79 Club as we discovered we were all born in the same year.  We met early in the morning for a bowl of Pho and then set out on the planned, two-day journey to a small city named Tra Vinh.  Roundtrip was about 350 kilometers south of Saigon in the Mekong Delta.

I knew nothing of this particular city before.  It was only a point on the map on my office wall.  But the province is home to more than 300,000 ethic Khmer people.  At one point in history much of southern Vietnam was part of the Cambodian or “Kampuchea” empire.  And like most history, war tends to redraw the lines on a map.  Vietnam is no different.  When French Indochina was given independence, the Mekong Delta was awarded to Vietnam who’s people had be settled in that region since the late 17th century. But the Khmer culture and language is still strong here.  In fact the province is home to more than 140 pagodas, most of which are Khmer.

The drive began like any other … leaving Saigon.  In any one direction this could take hours depending on traffic.  The city is massive and the roads are narrow.  However since the week of the Lunar New Year holiday was still being celebrated, most of the people were in the countryside and the roads were less crowded.  The Main route to the Mekong Delta is on the infamous Highway 1.  The highway that once carried fleeing South Vietnamese troops south away from the Viet Cong during the fall of Saigon.

February is a time for harvest. The rice patties are vibrant with a green and yellow glow.  Conical hats bob up and down in the grass as workers cut bails of rice and carry them to a hulling machine that separates the stem from the grain.  It is a very common site but one that is almost impossible to pass up.  We venture from the main road to find a patty with more people.

We park our bikes at a small house which doubles as a coffee shop and we venture behind where a dozen or more people are working.  Standing on the edge of the patty I see how muddy the scene actually is.  A see black mud coating the bottom half of the worker’s legs.  I look down at my white feet slightly pinkish from the exposure to the sun and I smile.  The workers all point to the far end of the patty to where I should walk to avoid the mud.  But instead we roll up our jeans and shake off our flip flops and jump in toes first.  Laughter plays tag as smiles peer out from under the famous Vietnamese hats.

The coffee shop owners point to the water faucet in the bathroom while laughing as soon as we return.  We wash our feet and enjoy a few glasses of iced milk coffee.  It’s nice to be with photographers.  I always say I miss the camaraderie the most from my newspaper days, but it’s true.  Like minds discussing the trends, the hopes, the dreams of photography.  It’s inspiring.  Add the backdrop of the southern Vietnam countryside and I just feel lucky.

The drive continues through the famous tourist delta town of My Tho.  Locals used to depend on the ferry system to cross tributaries of the Mekong River into the neighboring province but now a new bridge has opened up.  At the apex Vietnamese park their motorbikes along the edge dangerously close to the passing traffic.  They sit and stare out at the two provinces and the boat traffic far below.

A meager restaurant sits to the right of the road on the other side of the bridge.  The four people eating rice look relatively happy so we stop for a bite.  The broken rice and grilled pork is tastier than I expected.  We top the pile of food off with one fried egg.  The squirrely owner jumps around nervously talking to us using his best English.  He talks about his job working for the South Vietnamese Army during the American-Vietnamese War.  As soon as we finish our meal the owner trades the empty plates with a piece of coconut candy – a specialty of the Ben Tre Province.  We thank him for the meal and promise we will stop by upon our return the following day.

Two ferry rides and we reach our destination for the evening.  Tra Vinh.  The town has a lovely vibe.  Barely a foreigner in sight.  Trees line the streets while leading to the river walk way.  Pagoda steeples poke through the tree canopy outside the city.  We venture into one.  Young Khmer monks sweep leaves off the dirt ground.  Another group carry large watering cans to their small tree orchard.  They take a break from their chores for a cigarette.  We exchange conversation and they teach us a few words in the Khmer language. Most of Vietnam’s Khmer population practice Theravada Buddhism.  Most boys between the ages of 15 and 20 set aside a few months to live as monks.  They are allowed to eat meat but they cannot kill animals.

After dinner we drink a few glasses of local beer and retire to our $8 hotel rooms.  The seven hours of dirt and exhaust feels nice to wash off of my face.  The black water flows counter clockwise into the drain on the cheaply tiled floor.  The morning is quickly approaching and I am exhausted.

The return to Saigon is uneventful.  The traffic from the locals returning to the city after celebrating the Lunar New Year in their home towns is less than I had expected.  However, most of the drive I am thinking of the man that I met at a lake outside of Tra Vinh named Son.  He is a photographer.  In fact I immediately think of him as the Weegee of Vietnam.

His clothes are two sizes too big.  His large eye glasses look like motorcycle goggles and a Michigan hat sits cockeyed atop his head.  He’s a bit goofy but certainly endearing.  On the front of the motorbike is a sign with examples of his photography and the words, “Chup Hinh Lay Lien”, which basically means you can get your photographs right now.  A Canon Selphy printer is bungeed to the back of the seat and is powered by the bike’s battery.  Couples stand by the river filled with lotus flowers to get their photographs taken.  One picture costs 15,000 Dong or about $0.80 USD.

The three of us decide to get one taken.  I smile and think about the cheesy Vietnamese photography style.  Heavily airbrushed and ridiculous backdrops.  Son positions us in to a semi circle.  He takes one photograph and looks at the LCD screen on the back of the camera.  He grunts and shakes his head.  Maybe I blinked.  He takes one more and smiles.  He takes out his CF card and inserts it into the printer.  A few moments later our photo comes out.  We all laugh at it but also smile a few moments longer than usual.  The ’79 Club.  We buy three copies.

***

Kevin German is a photographer who lives and works in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.  His column, “The Motorbike Diaries” appears every other Wednesday.  He is a founding member of Luceo.

Three white male photographers on three motorbikes driving through the countryside is always good for a few laughs.  We coined ourselves the '79 Club as we discovered we were all born in the same year.  We met early in the morning for a bowl of Pho and then set out on the planned, two-day ...